


Trefoils Are For Geese

by Wonko



Category: Holby City, Untitled Goose Game (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Untitled Goose Game Fusion, F/F, Multimedia, Remix, anserine antics, just add goose, to do: be insufferable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 13:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonko/pseuds/Wonko
Summary: It's a lovely day at Guide camp, and you are a horrible goose.
Relationships: Bernie Wolfe & Goose, Jac Naylor & Goose, Serena Campbell & Goose, Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26
Collections: Untitled Goose Exchange 2: 2 Goose 2 Furious





	Trefoils Are For Geese

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fortytworedvines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortytworedvines/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I promise I will do my best (to be true to myself)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940245) by [fortytworedvines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortytworedvines/pseuds/fortytworedvines). 

It was early morning and the sun was just peeking over the tree-covered horizon, spilling golden light over the surface of a calm, clear lake. Disturbing the placid tranquility of the water was a goose, heading for a campsite where dozens of girls and a smattering of leaders were still sleeping peacefully under canvas, blissfully unaware of the entity of chaos that was about to descend upon them.

For this was no ordinary goose. Though nameless and untitled, this goose was known throughout the land as - not to put too fine a point on it - a honking troublemaker. Today he had a to-do list as long as his wing, and the sooner he got started the better.

Waddling into the campsite, he settled down behind a particular tent and reviewed his nefarious plans for the day.

Inside the tent, Serena Campbell was just stirring into consciousness. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she squinted against the light. “Bloody hell,” she husked. “How long have you been staring at me?”

Bernie grinned, running her fingers through sleep tousled brown hair and drawing her imperceptibly closer with a hand on her hip. “Am I not allowed to gaze at my beautiful girlfriend?”

“Mmmm,” Serena hummed, leaning forward for a quick peck. “We’d better get up. You’re on breakfast duty. I’m going to grab a shower.”

Outside, their anserine eavesdropper waddled off in the direction of the shower block. The plumbing round the back was surprisingly simple - so simple even a goose could work it out. Red for hot, blue for cold. It was a scientific fact that geese (and sundry other waterfowl) were highly sensitive to reds, blues, yellows and greens. The goose had nicked an iPhone once and looked that up on Honkipedia. But that was beside the point.

With exquisite timing, the goose waited until Serena had just begun to shampoo her hair. One swift peck to the red pipe…

“Aaaaagh!” Serena yelped, as the cold water struck her like the slap of a goose’s wing. The goose honked gently in malign amusement as she began dancing on the spot, trying to rinse off the shampoo suds as quickly as possible. Before she could escape the frigid onslaught, the goose waddled off back towards the campsite.

He came upon Bernie and Serena’s recently vacated tent. Foolishly, someone had left the flap open to let the place air. Well, this goose could never be accused of failing to make the most of an opportunity.

In the next tent but one, Jac Naylor was just waking up. “Ugh!” she groaned, covering her ears. “Wolfe! I don’t know what’s so funny, but cut out that honking!”

Its nefarious work done, the goose made his escape. Feeling peckish, he waddled over to where Bernie was grilling sausages. Now, the average goose typically feasted on roots, shoots, stems, seeds, leaves of grass and grain, bulbs, and berries. Perhaps the occasional insect, for a treat. However, this was no typical goose. Honking in glee, he reached out to grab a sausage from the grill.

“Hey!” Bernie exclaimed, waving him away with a pair of tongs. “Beat it, goose! These sausages are for the guides!”

The goose honked. Unmoved, Bernie placed her body between him and the sausages.

Just as the impasse began to look terminal to the goose’s chances of getting a bite to eat, the last vestiges of a peaceful morning were destroyed by a screech from the direction of the tents.

“Berenice Griselda Wolfe!” Serena screamed. “How do you manage to make a mess like this in five bloody minutes!

“What?” Bernie replied, and in her brief moment of distraction, the goose leaned forward and nabbed a sausage.

“Oi!” Bernie yelled, but the goose was already off and running. And then Bernie was fully engaged in explaining the state of their tent to a cold and irate Serena Campbell.

When the goose had enjoyed his breakfast and honked at a few campers for a bit of entertainment, he turned his attention to the kitchen tent. The word was, some girl guides were very fussy about what kind of spoons they used. Jac Naylor was in the tent, supervising some girls washing up the breakfast dishes while Bernie unloaded her woes.

“I’ve told you before, Wolfe,” Jac was saying. “You need to keep your tent in better order.”

“But I did!” Bernie replied indignantly. “I mean, I have been. Someone else must have been in there.”

Jac rolled her eyes. “Sure, someone went into your tent and messed the place up just to make your girlfriend mad at you.”

“Hmmph,” Bernie grunted, then her eyes lit up. “Hey, can you cover for me at the archery later? I need to do some buttering up. Send Serena down to the lake at lunchtime?”

Jac opened her mouth to protest, but Bernie was already off and running. Meanwhile, under the cover of the discussion, the goose had surreptitiously switched a dozen soup spoons for dessert spoons.

“Hey!” Jac yelled, spotting the goose sneaking out with cutlery in his beak. “Get back here with that! I’m not eating my soup with a dessert spoon!”

The goose honked in an aggressive manner and ran off towards the lake.

Grumbling, Jac collected together some wood and paints and organised some arty girls into making a no geese allowed sign. There. That should sort out that anserine interloper.

Later, Bernie had just finished putting the finishing touches on her surprise for Serena when she heard some guides leading her girlfriend down to the lakeside. “What’s this all about?” Serena was grumbling. The cold shower and row with her partner had put her in a bad mood.

“Just wanted to treat you,” Bernie said, emerging from behind a tree. Serena’s face softened when she saw the basket on the picnic table, with a gorgeous view of the lake beyond. She didn’t notice the goose floating innocently on the surface of the water.

“Well,” Serena said, drawing close to Bernie and wrapping her arms around her waist. “I suppose I can forgive you. If there’s a nice bottle of Shiraz in that basket.”

The guides who’d been involved in the ruse to get her to the lake giggled as they began to make their way back to camp, leaving the adults alone to canoodle.

“Like I’d invite you to a romantic meal without wine,” Bernie said, kissing Serena gently before turning to lead her to the basket.

Which was nowhere to be seen.

“What?” she murmured, confused. And then she saw it. A goose feather, shining bright against the green of the grass. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?” Serena frowned.

“That bloody goose. There!”

Serena whirled round. To her astonishment, a large white goose was standing on a low jetty leading out to the lake, their picnic basket firmly held in its bill. He was holding it rather menacingly over the surface of the water.

“Don’t you dare!” Bernie yelled.

A malevolent glint entered the goose’s beady eye.

_Splash._

Bernie launched herself at the bird, and Serena wasn’t far behind. That was Shiraz that had just plopped into the lake and was now sinking to the bottom, after all. But the goose was too quick. His honks sounded very like laughter as he leapt onto the water and began paddling off towards freedom.

“Fuck you,” the honks seemed to say. “I’m a goose.”


End file.
